


What the Sands Reclaim

by MrMissMrsRandom



Category: Fire Emblem: Seisen no Keifu | Fire Emblem: Genealogy of the Holy War
Genre: Cannibalism, Cold Boys are now Toasty Boys, Crossing the Yied Desert-More overt horror version, Gen, Gore, Gradual unfolding of horror, I suppose this is more The Terror-inspired, I'm sorry guys I went Ham on this, Mostly Epistolary, Possession, Self-Immolation referred to, The Terror AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 13:52:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17346386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrMissMrsRandom/pseuds/MrMissMrsRandom
Summary: In Grann Year XX61, An expedition group lead by Lord Claus of Leonster set forth from the Manster District into the Yied Desert, with goals to discover a safer and quicker passage to the Northlands of Jugdral. A joint cooperative effort between Leonster and the larger Grannvalian Empire, the team was comprised of lords, adventurers, soldiers, and thrill seekers. They were set to arrive in the neutral territories between the wastelands and the kingdom of Isaach four months later.None were ever seen again.





	What the Sands Reclaim

 

 

Eldigan glares at the man in front of him, his face in slight shadow with a hood adding the rest. His gnarled hands grab something from his pack sling, which quickly shifts Eldigan’s attention. A battered and beaten travel logbook with stray pages sticking out every which way slid across the stone table between them, as if ready for sacrifice. The faded gold leaf titling on the front can still be made out. 

 

“How did you find this?”

 

The man’s voice was muffled by the scarf around his neck. “A man gave it to me before going into the accursed lands. Met them a day outside of Darna.” 

 

Eldigan’s sunburned hands traced the edges of the book, before beginning to pull it back when a blistered fist landed on top of it. 

 

“Our agreement?”

 

Eldigan frowned, tossing the bag of gold and silver to him. He had to sell one of the famous Augustrian warhorses he had brought with him to pay the price, but it was the only way he could agree to this meeting. The hand took it, and Eldigan claimed his own prize.

 

“Have you seen anyone return?” 

 

The shadowed figure gave a swift jerk of his head no. “Their bodies must have been claimed by the sands. It’s already been two years.” The man weighed the bag in his hand. “I was beginning to think I couldn’t make any money after meeting that foreigner.”

 

Eldigan gingerly places the logbook into his rucksack. 

 

“...What did that man look like?” 

 

“...Hm,” He leans back in his stool, further hiding his face. “Dark hair, and a face like a girl’s.”

Eldigan felt his heart sink a bit more. That man wasn’t Quan or Sigurd. “...Very well. Enjoy your payment.” 

 

He left the domicile, where the rest of his group awaited them. The guide would take them out of Darna to Phinora once night fell. Even with the threat of bandits, it was better to try most of your traveling in the colder evening then seek out or build a shelter during the higher points of sun during the day. Eldigan wished he knew that before finding the guide in Darna. He wished his lost companions had known.

 

When Sir Eve stepped forward, Eldigan shook his head. No good news. Save for the logbook, their mission had failed. They returned to the rest house in silence. While everyone prepared for an afternoon nap. Eldigan sequestered himself into one corner and slowly began to open the log book. Beginning on the cover, where Quan’s elegant and practiced hand wrote down his name and the starting date. 

 

Perhaps… perhaps this could give a reason to his friends’ disappearances. Something to tell Ethlyn when he returns without her husband or her brother. 

 

He flipped onto the next page and began to read.

 

\---

 

**Day 15**

 

_ A bright and sunny day in the Eastern Yied. The sands are quite blistering, but the men are kept in high spirits. Lord Chalphy knows how to speak to the men, keeping them entertained with stories from our Academy antics. It has been some time since then, with many accomplishments under our belts since then, but I think I shall save the speech about my time around the Thracian border when we need to set our blood boiling.  _

 

_ Save for one particular bout of heatstroke, nothing to report. The affected soldier spent the day riding in the medical wagon and should be fit to go back on foot by tomorrow. Though the sands look inhospitable, I must admit they hold some beauty in them. I have written down our coordinates, and there was a curious collection of dead trees we crossed earlier. I think that would make an adequate marker for the passage.  _

 

_ Now, if only characters like Mr. Coen and Sir Velt were more agreeable. Mr. Coen always has a quip at the ready, but it is always to someone else’s detriment. Are all Silessian’s so silver-tongued and so sarcastic? Sir Velt does his duty as an envoy of Grannvale’s king, but only speaks more than a few lines to his younger brother.  _

 

_ We still have three months of getting to know one another. Perhaps there is hope yet.  _

 

_ In the year XX61, _

 

_ Quan Claus of Leonster _

\---

**Day 35**

 

_ Mr. Alec Friars was laid to rest today. It took six hours for us to make a proper grave, but it wouldn’t do to leave the man out for the buzzards to devour. He had been in Lord Chalphy’s family’s service for a number of years, and the man found it in himself to say a few words on his behalf.  _

 

_ I knew there ran the risk of casualties on this expedition, but that the man’s condition didn’t improve, even with the combined efforts of the King’s head surgeon, Sir Edda, and young Mr. Velt, it is most astounding.  _

 

_ How could an able-bodied man like Mr. Friars have his condition worsen at such a rapid rate? He had no known previous ailments, but his heat stroke had changed into something more _

 

_ -lines are crossed out and hard to read- _

 

_ No, I must be more scientific. The ages of sorcery have long passed from our lands. Even if inhabitants of the Yied still fall into old practices, it is nothing modern men such as us cannot handle. It must have been a rapid growth of gangrene, perhaps something he obtained even before the expedition began, and went untreated.  _

 

_ Lord Chalphy is not so easily convinced, but I suppose it is a mystery we will never solve.  _

 

_ In the year XX61, _

 

_ Quan Claus of Leonster _

 

\---

 

**Day 40**

 

_ We came across a most peculiar rock formation today. Mr. Velt the younger said he had heard it referenced in old scrolls about the area, as a marker for one of the famous “Crusaders” of the ancient age. When one took a shovel to it, it was easy enough to collapse. Azel took some affront to this, but the elder Sir Velt kept him in check. Was this expedition worthwhile without bringing back a few souvenirs?  _

 

_ There were a few tablets in the ancient tongue there, and what looked like a handle for some kind of ceremonial dagger with the blade broken off. In the shape of a dragon. Curious. I didn’t know Thracians had settlements this far north and east. Well, they are a nomadic subrace, after all. No one here had paid special attention to their Ancients lessons, save for Lord Edda, so he has taken them and begun to look them over in his spare time. I have the handle on my person. _

 

_ Since the remnants of the formation work as an exceptional marker, I have added it to the coordinates. We will continue forward come morning.  _

 

_ In the year XX61, _

 

_ Quan Claus of Leonster _

  
  


\---

**DAY 41**

 

**_RECORDING THE PASSING OF QUAN CLAUS OF LEONSTER_ **

 

_ -lines are above written in a new hand, darker in outline. There are dried splotches on them- _

 

_ Our leader’s remains were found in his tent this morning. There were drag marks in the ground by his bedroll, and blood so much blood _

 

_ -lines crossed out- _

 

_ How will I tell Ethlyn that her husband is dead? And how we will not be able to bring his remains back in whole? All that was left was his arm. I could tell it was his by his wedding ring. We couldn’t even give him a proper burial like Alec’s because the men are terrified of whatever took him during the night to still be lurking around. The artifact we found yesterday is also missing. Quan must have kept it when he went to bed. I am not superstitious, but I’m glad it is gone. The thing _

 

_ I must prepare as well. We must press on. I will give the ring back to Ethlyn, and hope she can forgive me for not protecting Quan.  _

 

_ In the year XX61, _

 

_ Sigurd Baldos of Chalphy _

 

Description of Quan’s death by Lewyn, also tearing into him for bringing Boy Toy Finn. Only member to have crossed the Yied before, not a native Grannvalian, from Silesse.

 

\---

 

**Day 45**

 

_ -Written in a new hand- _

 

_ Lord Chalphy has refused the near-unanimous decision to make him our new leader, so as the only member of this expedition who has crossed the Yied before, it falls to me. I most surely hope it is not a cursed position.  _

 

_ There have been no more attacks from the creature, and our team is making progress. However, Lord Claus’s secretary, the man that looks little more than a boy or a girl that has just stopped wearing braids, has informed me that our supplies are less than first expected. I could lay blame on ill-preparation, but perhaps it has to do with allowing himself and the officers to take sponge baths every other day. It is the desert. It is better to reek than die of thirst. Though it pains me, that nice Augustrian wine has also been decimated. For a military man, or maybe due to being one, Lord Claus appears to be a man of many appetites.  _

 

_ As long as we have enough provisions to reach Darna, we should be fine. We’re running a tighter ship now. We killed a horse that had gone lame, and the men soon forgot about their pity once they had fresh meat in their bellies.  _

 

_ To leaner, but hopefully better days.  _

 

_ In the year XX61, _

 

_ Lewyn Coen  _

 

\---

 

**Day 65**

 

_ Our team has run through over half of its allotted time and has still not reached Darna. That shouldn’t be possible, but it is now. My best guess is that is that has to do with how many of the men have fell ill. Azel has taken the brunt of the workload, as Lord Edda has become all but absorbed with translating those old tablets. I am tempted to find a rock and smash them against them, but then I’m afraid he will turn his surgical tools on me. Even a man who has taken holy vows can break under the strain of the sand and the sun.  _

 

_ Sigurd has taken a bad cough, and it worries me. He is a steadfast man, and without him and Finn, I honestly don’t believe I could keep our team from scattering to the winds. If we reach Darna, we can barter our valuables for water, and new steeds to reach Phinora. It is in Grannvale’s hands. But I fear more losses are on the horizon.  _

 

_ It doesn’t help that Sir Velt hasn’t been all that helpful. It sounds paranoid, but I don’t trust him. He never spoke to some of the less educated men at the beginning of the expedition, but he and the young Lord of Jungby have become uncharacteristically chummy with the men. I am tempted to ask Azel to talk to him, but he is already handling so much, I can’t ask for more.  _

 

_ The only thing left to do is hope, and keep moving West.  _

 

_ In the year XX61, _

 

_ Lewyn Coen  _

 

\---

 

_ -a wrinkled and ripped collection of parchment falls from the book. The notes become progressively harder to read, save for the words “sacrifice” and “forgive me” before the log continues- _

 

\---

 

**Day 80**

 

_ Lord Edda set himself on fire last night. _

 

_ How can I write anything else? He set himself on fire, and we all only got to him when the smoke had suffocated him and stopped the screams.The sight will stay with me for the rest of my days, bits of flame still coming off of him even though his flesh was melted off. The tablets were smashed beside him, and I pray they have taken the madness of whatever they held with them. Azel found notes smuggled in amongst his belongings, but the hand is so manic I can’t make any sense of it, so I’ve put them in here for safe keeping. I wish I could burn it as Claude burned himself. _

 

_ What is worse, Sir Velt and a few others… remained, with the remains. I ordered them to bury the corpse before scavengers got to it. It was gone by morning, but I saw no fresh earth.  _

 

_ I remember before what I said about meat, and it is starting to make me sick.  _

 

_ Some of the men have recovered at least, even if Sigurd’s condition remains dire. I tell him not to speak, to conserve his strength, but his complexion continues to wane. _

 

_ We must all be a sorry sight by now. Nobody wants to sit together at our meager meals but goes into groups of two or three. Azel has begun to avoid his brother, and I’m afraid that will only mean he is more applicable to do something rash without his support. He only talks to me or his friend Lex outside of medical related questions. _

 

_ Get to Darna. We must get to Darna.  _

 

_ In the year XX61, _

 

_ Lewyn Coen   _

 

\---

 

**_Day 99_ **

 

_ I thought the creature had stopped following us, but it came back. It attacked during a sandstorm, and all I saw was a big, awful black shape and gleaming red eyes. I will list the names later. There are too many, and not all of the body parts have been identified. I only know that Velt in his ilk has disappeared with the lion’s share of our remaining resources.  _

 

_ Azel is among the  missing, and it is more than likely that they kidnapped him. I found Lex’s body, not ravaged by the creature, but with multiple stab wounds littering his gut. He must have died defending him.  _

 

_ We are down to less than a dozen men. We started this journey with over thirty. Perhaps that was our mistake. The expedition didn’t need to be so large. Seven men and a proper guide would have gotten the job done, but they allowed anyone who wanted a share in the glory to come along. And I didn’t speak up.  _

 

_ We are, hopefully, three days walk from Darna. Walk, because the remaining horses are gone too. We have one day worth of water.  _

 

_ Sigurd and Arden have volunteered to stay behind, and I want to tell them no, but I know it would make our supplies last longer. Sigurd is at the end of his rope, and Arden refuses to leave the lord he grew up with. Sigurd asked me to play him a song, before we left. I did, and I had to stop myself from fucking bawling so I could save the salt still in my body and not mixed in with this godforsaken land.  _

 

_ I am handing over the log book to Finn. He is next in command now, and if I die, or I’m captured, at least the truth will be kept somewhat safe. The fool looked ready to punch me in the face when I did. Perhaps next to making moon eyes over Lord Claus, that’s the best way for him to show affection.  _

 

_ Despite it all, I care for him. I care for them all. They don’t deserve this fate. _

 

_ In the year XX61, _

 

_ the final entry of Lewyn Coen _

 

\---

 

_ -Written in a neat, small hand- _

 

_ Lewyn was taken at dusk.  _

 

_ I looked over Lord Edda’s notes again. Lewyn said it was chicken scratch, but he was -this is crossed out- is an impatient man. He writes about a Shrine, north of Darna, more ancient than even that city. It tells of a grisly history, based on the words I can make out. Those that were leaders of the ancient empire who fell into disgrace were sequestered there and continued to conduct the previous practices. When their numbers began to dwindle due to malnutrition and… inbreeding, they began to take children from the nearby tribes. Those that survived initiation joined them and strengthened the bloodline. Those that did not were sacrificed, at least once every few months, to their “god.” Lord Edda didn’t write down its name, but I have a feeling it has the same appearance as whatever thing attacked the camp, that killed Lord Quan.  _

 

_ I think Lord Edda killed himself to ‘appease’ the creature. When we didn’t give it a proper sacrifice after, it went berserk.  _

 

_ I don’t think the blade handle Lord Quan found was of Thracian origin.  _

 

_ A shadow has followed our group ever since we found that rock formation, and has driven men to desperation and death. I have told the remaining men that we can make it for Darna, or go after the traitors and get Lewyn back. They all chose the latter. _

 

_ Perhaps I am foolish, but I can’t abandon him. Not after everything.  _

 

_ I think it is now XX62, I can’t tell now. I used enjoy New Years. New Beginnings.  _

 

_ I’m not usually this sentimental.  _

 

_ I’m going to stop writing. The next entry will be Lewyn’s. _

 

_ Finn Grant of Leonster  _

 

\---

 

Lewyn woke up with a terrible headache, tied to a carved stone chair, to the sound of men arguing.

 

“He gave his life for ours. He wanted to save people, to make sure we survive! As long as we don’t eat the liver-”

 

“You will not touch him!” 

 

When his eyes focused, he saw Sir Velt and his righthand conspirator Lord Jungby arguing in the torchlight over Azel’s corpse. The younger man was naked, but still untouched. Because he spent most days in the medical wagon, much of his skin was still unblemished by the sunburns and patches of dry skin that littered Lewyn’s and the others. The handsome Sir Velt now had his proud mane of red hair in mangy clumps, and Jungby was never that much of a looker in Lewyn’s eyes. 

 

Funny, how his thoughts turned to petty things when he was close to death. They didn’t even realize he was awake. 

 

Lord Jungby stepped into Sir Velt’s personal space. “What do you plan to do? You wont give him to us, you won’t make him the sacrifice, so what? Are you hoping it takes him for a host? It needs something that’s still breathing, I thought you told me that!” 

 

“Stop calling them an  _ it _ ,” Sir Velt replied, reaching out for something around his belt. Even in the dim light, Lewyn could make out the dragon on the pommel. So it had been stolen after all. 

 

Only this time, the blade was not broken… if it could be called a blade. Black energies swirled around it, shaping into a fine point. Sir Velt intended to stab his accomplice with it, to be sure.

 

But then the other shadows in the room began to move. And the room was filled with screams. 

 

Lewyn couldn’t tear his eyes away from the slaughter. The creature should have been too large to travel that fast within the space, but it tore into limbs and throats with ease. Its body turning into smoke one minute only for his jaws to emerge and taste more flesh. Sir Velt raised his knife and screamed something at it, but once is tore out Lord Jungby’s guts, it only paused for a moment, before doing the same. 

 

It took one moment to look at Azel on the ground, sniffing at his corpse, but then turned away, almost dismissively. 

 

It then saw Lewyn, and it approached. 

 

Lewyn registered he had begun to scream, but in his weak state he couldn’t break away from his bonds, only scream at its face as it approached, its draconic face morphing into Velt’s, then Jungby’s, then many others before shadows overcame him.

 

\---

 

Lewyn awoke to water splashing onto his face. He yelled, pulling away, only to realize he was no longer bound, and no longer in that awful room. It was dusk, and the stars had begun to appear in the sky. When his gaze shifted from up to further to the side, he found a woman above him. Even in the traditional robes of those that lived their life in the desert, he could tell she was pregnant. He reached out for the pouch in her hands, and she gave it to him. He drank it down, but even when he emptied it, he couldn’t feel his thirst quenched. 

 

The woman seems to realize this, and walks out of sight, to a small pot boiling over a fire. Lewyn could make out the unnatural lightness of her hair, and figures that were also around the fire, but not their faces. She scoops up its contents and hands it too him. It smells delicious and begins to drink.

 

It is thick, and it takes him downing half the bowl to realize that its blood. He tries to pull back, but her hand grasps the end and pours the rest down his throat. It still tastes good. It tastes better than anything he has ever tasted before, even when he knows what it is. 

 

She feeds him with more bowls before the moon hangs high in the sky. For the first time in weeks, his body feels sated. 

 

“... How am I still alive?” Lewyn asks, even though he knows she probably cannot understand. Save for Darna, many of the nomadic people’s of the Yied keep to their original tongues. Lewyn attempts to repeat this in what little he knows of one of the languages. 

 

“...” The woman takes out a small dagger, and shows him the handle. It is an ordinary dagger, save for the dragon carved into it. Lewyn feels his blood go cold, but she points to the handle, and then back to him

 

_ “In you.”  _

 

“I don’t understand,” Lewyn replies. 

 

She repeats it, then sighs, and stabs down at his hand before he can react. 

 

Only the blade tip is deflected by a burst of shadow and sent off to the side. The figures come closer at the commotion, before the woman raises her hand to stop them. She repeats once more.

 

_ “In you.” _

 

Somehow, Lewyn understands now. 

 

\---

 

Lewyn stays with the family for three days, speaking little. They give him new clothes and shelter, but not company. Save for the woman, everyone else avoids him. They perhaps stick closer to stories passed down. By a stray comment by one of the children, hair as pale as the woman’s, knows now his eyes are red. 

 

He has nightmares, but the blood helps lessen their effect. He decides not to ask the woman where it is coming from. 

 

He sees a camp in the distance, and he can already tell who it belongs to and runs forward. He hears the woman call out to him, but he ignores her. He should have listened.

 

It is riddled in corpses, but not ones that are torn asunder by a ferocious beast. Only by scavengers. 

 

He finds Finn’s body last, his eyes and tongue plucked out. He strokes his hair, chalky and covered in sand, but feels more real to him than anything else. The bag with the logbook is not far away, or his flute. He takes them.

 

Lewyn then turns around and tells the family to take what they want. He then slides the logbook and flute into his bag, and sets off for where he thinks Darna is.

 

He hopes he dies before he gets there, but he doesn’t. Whatever ritual happened in the cave had changed him. His frail body is strong again, even if its outer parts show incredible damage. 

 

He wonders if his skin will eventually shed, like a snake. Then he’ll look like what he actually was now. 

 

It takes over a year for Eldigan to reach Darna with a ‘rescue party.’ Lewyn still hasn’t died. He limits what blood he gets to animals in the alleyways, or what he can pay people for to part with coin he makes playing his flute, but his body cries out for more. The nightmares keep coming every night. 

 

After Eldigan leaves with the ledger, Lewyn sets back off on his own into the desert. He no longer feels cold, or heat, even if his body is showing obvious degeneration. 

 

He goes back in and prays he doesn’t come back. 

**Author's Note:**

> Here is me getting out my Horror-urges for the next few months, hopefully. Probably not.


End file.
